they say you never sleep,
yet you’re full of dreams.
you’re a mosaic of blinding lights,
each piece of you gleaming
in the spotlight, you know so well.
a flash of red, yellow and green
i look into your kaleidoscope
of traffic lights;
it hypnotizes me.
i’m addicted to your highlight reel
of glamour and neon nights;
your unreliable promise of
i’m enraptured by the content i read
written across your skyline,
but i’m the one in the byline.
you’re the type people write songs about,
but, tell me:
are you the concrete jungle
where dreams are made of,
or are you the boulevard
of broken dreams?
are you really what they call you,
or are you the poisoned apple,
perhaps the forbidden fruit?
are you the promising traffic glow
telling me to go,
or are you the deceiving green light
at the tip of Daisy’s dock?
i crave your euphoria,
i crave your enigma,
even if you are an empire state
of backlogged ambition.
so promise me,
with that unreliable word of yours,
that you’re not the poisoned one.